


Bull Fighting

by imischiefmanagedi (IIthatfangirlII)



Series: Trust Me When I Say, Trust No One [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fantasy, Fighting, Lies, Pirates, Royalty, Teenagers, how does one tag?, rules be darned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 02:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13472061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IIthatfangirlII/pseuds/imischiefmanagedi
Summary: The Vereorausi Ocean has always been home to cut-throats, liars, pirates, and traitors. Here nothing is as it seems. War lurks on the horizon as Petra finds herself beginning to question everything she knows. Meanwhile, across the sea, a young street rat called Rook has successfully hidden for years, only to be forced into joining a pirate crew to stay alive.





	Bull Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is violent, but I can safely say that this is the chapter with the most graphic violence, all others will be toned down. So this thing is also on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/464432774-trust-me-when-i-say-trust-no-one-chapter-one-rook

_Rook's POV_

    Not for the first time tonight, I began to question my life choices as a storm of curse words, that if my mother were to hear would have gotten me a clean smack, thundered in my head. My hands shook, and no amount of deep breathing was calming them down. Perhaps, my added nervousness was due to the booming crowd. Personally, I think it had to do with the sneering, tower-of-a-man in front of me. The hanging lanterns illuminated his narrowed eyes and brawny build.

 

    I saw him here on multiple scouting occasions, but I don't think I ever put enough thought into how big he was. Outside of the ring, I had judged him to be about a foot taller than me, though being less than 10 feet apart I realize now that I was wrong unless he grew since my last visit. The flickering light showed his scared face, under a crude cut mop of red hair that had glued itself to his forehead. Around here he is, appropriately, known as "The Bull" and has been the tavern's champion for a while.

 

    The tavern was filled with the stench of rum, the smell hanging off the wall like perfume on a noble. Tables and chairs, which typically crowded The Fox Hole, had been pushed to the wall to make room in the center. The Fox Hole Tavern is notorious for its underground fighting matches. Nearly every night, people from all backgrounds volunteered to fight for a round in hopes of the money that fights provides. About half of them are fools, looking for a bit of danger, and the other half is made up of people in need of the money. In my opinion, I belong to the latter group. Even though fights like this one are popular in Peraeth, these aren't exactly legal. The fights mainly occur because the watchmen that the city of Zusics employs are so corrupt that some are probably part of the crowd to watch the fight.

 

    The Bull and I are standing at opposing ends of a ring that has been formed by the largest crowd I have ever seen, at a fight. Half of them chanted 'Bull!' while the other half were either drinking their night away or waiting in anticipation for the fight to begin. The tavern's owner, a short bearded man in pristine clothing that clashed with my dirt-covered tunic and pants, was walking around the edge of the circle to get bets on the fight before proceeding to announce the rules for newcomers.

 

    I have the speech memorized by now, 'The rules of the fight are simple. To win, one of these contestants must incapacitate the other, be it by forfeit, injury, death. Under no circumstances are weapons allowed in the fight. The winner will receive half of the bets made against them. The loser, if they survive, shall receive nothing.' The speel was standard around most taverns and bars, though not exactly truthful. Forfeiting wasn't much of an option as the crowds would likely push you back in when you try to leave the circle.

 

    Normally, I wouldn't fight in a tavern as popular as this with opponents like The Bull, or which allowed death as a way to win, but I'm so close. Just one win here should be enough to pay a fare onto a merchant boat heading to Essex. Once there I'd feel much better. Depending on how much I won I might even be able to afford a bed for the night.

 

    Suddenly, the crowd's volume rose to a deafening level, bringing my attention from the crowd to The Bull and the tavern owner, who had begun announcing it was time for the match to commence. As was the common courtesy, I offered my hand to shake his own. Instead of shaking it The Bull settled on grunting and spat at my hand before walking to his end of the circle. Gross.

 

    Before I could respond, the tavern owner rang the bell and The Bull charged directly at me. Unlike how most opponents spent the majority of time dancing around each other, trying to get a sense of their skill level. I just managed to swerve the majority of my body out of the way in time for him to come within a hair's length from impacting with my body. My leg wasn't as fortunate, however as his foot caught on my leg, pulling it out from under me. Rolling into a crouch, I looked up to see where he had ended up.

 

    He had landed ungracefully, stumbling into the booing crowd who pushed him back. I saw a flash of anger in his eyes as he regained his balance. I moved quickly, aiming a kick at him though, it only scuffed his knee. This act caused little change, though I did receive a glare that was more than a little bone-chilling. It was at this moment when I began to question my life choices.

 

    His fist clenched, and I saw his next move would be a punch. His sent fist swinging at me, but I quickly danced to the side, escaping the blow. His fist had attempted to follow me and ended up unbalancing him. Since my last attempt to send him to the floor didn't work, I went on the defensive, getting back in a fighting position, bouncing on my feet, ready for his next attack. My breath came in pants, the stuffiness of the tavern making breathing more difficult, as I began to do a half circle around him as he straightened, trying to get a sense for any weak points he may have, though none were immediately presenting themselves.

 

    The Bull charged, his hands coming at me. Before I knew it, two meaty hands had clenched around my neck. Suddenly, finding that my feet had left the ground and were dangling uselessly, true panic filled me. Air had stopped coming to me, and everything around The Bull and I seemed to dim. My mind had stopped racing, instead deciding to focus on the unbearable pain around my neck. Waves of terrible energy came crashing through me as I gasped for air. My body flails, trying to get free of this mountain's hands. He is trying to turn me so he could put me in a head-lock, but I'm flailing and kicking too much for him. Lifting my hand to his face, I did the only thing I could think to do, and plunged my fingers into his eyes and yanking down.

 

    Immediately, I am dropped onto the rotten floorboards as he lets out a roar of pain. Unable to roll, I land hard on my side and bite back a groan. Air floods through my lungs, and I've never been happier to breathe the stale air of a tavern. My hip stung, and I was still gasping for air, but knowing that I was as good as dead if I stayed down, I got up on shaky legs.

 

    His back was away from me, his hands over his eyes, and when he looked back at me, I saw that his eyes were blood-red and filled with rage. When he dropped me my fingernails had run down his face, making him look like he had been crying blood. He looked as though he had crawled out of a story a parent would tell their children to get them to behave. A glinting in his hand caught my eye. Concealed in his mitt of a hand, clutched a double-edged dagger.

 

    The world seemed to slow down around me as he lunged, the knife in his hand is scouting for a place to sink its point in my flesh. My body acted without consent, hurtling itself to my left. The Bull's face contorted as he must have expected me to go right which would have sent the blade into my heart. The blade instead pierces my arm, better to get a slice of my dominant arm than a stab at my heart I suppose. Still hurt like hell, though. Blood begins to stain my old tunic and my hand cups the gash, just as The Bull lands none too gracefully on his feet, but stands too quickly for me to do anything. Seeing his wobbling gave me an idea, I needed to bring him down to my playing field instead of trying to get to his.

 

    I throw a Lethargian curse in his direction, one that I had heard thrown at me dozens of times, trying to get him angry. It must have been a particularly nasty one because The Bull's face grew so red that it matched the color of his eyes. He bellowed one back with a lot more gusto than I had given my own and charged, fury flaring in his eyes, knife clutched in his hand, aimed at my chest.

 

    Dropping down into a cat-like position, I managed to avoid the dagger's tip. I paid for my dodge with a spike of pain in my arm. I saw The Bull land ungracefully, and this time I was quickly able to sweep one of his feet out from under him, sending him crashing into the rotting wooden floorboards. His knife skittered out of his hand and across the floor, eliciting silent shock from the crowd. I was already on my feet as he was attempting to push himself up. With the adrenaline I had received through fear, I ended the fight by plunging my foot with all its weight behind it into his temple. The Bull's body goes limp as his body slumps onto the floor. Silence falls over the room for a second before erupting into cheers.

 

    The sound of the crowd finally comes back into focus, just in time for cheers and boos ring in my ears, threatening to deafen me. I can hear the sharp lilting Peraethen accent of the tavern owner announcing me as the victor in the background. In this moment, I allow myself a small grin, a sense of relief mixed with something like invulnerability, flooding through me as I wipe the sweat that had glued my short and disheveled black hair, to my forehead. I had won. Normally, I wouldn't feel quite so happy about winning a fight, but considering what The Bull did and tried to do, I'm not too heartbroken about it. I'm so close to home. And then, my legs buckled under me, sending me stumbling into the crowd, world dipping. My breathing has become lighter, but, all too quickly, I remember the pain coursing through me from my arm. I glance at it to see blood has stained my sleeve. Quickly, I roll it up, revealing a large gash as it pours dark red blood. I cover it and begin to apply pressure to stop it from bleeding. I sigh, knowing I'll have to spend a good portion my earnings tonight to make sure I wouldn't have to lose the arm, but at the moment I'm too relieved at the fact that I not only survived but won, to care.

 

    Three men as big as The Bull carry him to a table. I can feel the scowls and glares are occasionally thrown in my direction as people in the tavern approach to congratulate me.

 

    Out of the corner of my eye, I see something glinting. It's the dagger The Bull dropped in the match. It takes some effort not to collapse, but I manage to scoop it up. It's soaked in my blood, so I wipe it off to get a good look at it.

 

    The style of the dagger reveals its maker to be a Levthragian smith's work. It was a simple dagger, with no hand-guard and a leather hilt, but its blade was razor sharp. It'd make a nice addition to my winnings tonight.

 

    When the crowd around me starts to disperse into the corners of the room, the tavern owner approaches me with my winnings in a pouch while I fastened the dagger to my belt. He gives me my winnings, as well as an offer to fight another round, which I deny. It's tempting to take up the offer to fight another round the next night, increasingly so when I felt the weight of the pouch, but it's too risky in my state. Plus it's incredibly easy for a fighter to become well-known here, making it harder to hide from the watchmen.

 

    Once the tavern owner leaves, another wave of the crowd bombards me with pats on the back, questions, and some insults from people who bet against me. Eager to count my winnings and end the night I slip away. The chill that the night is harboring is the first thing to greet me as I step out. My wounds, though still aching, feel better with the chill. Breathing also seems to become easier. Chills that have plagued Peraeth are dying, though my breath remains visible in the air.

 

    The night is clear, allowing me to see all the constellations that tell of myths about gods, heroes, and magic. People often talk about the old stories as if they were real. Like everything could be explained with false gods and deities. Even I wasn't able to escape the belief false stories as a child, but I later learned there were no gods, no heroes, and no magic. Only monsters.

 

    As people begin to stream out of The Fox Hole, I make my way over to one of the alleyways for more cover, one hand protectively clutching the pouch, the other putting pressure on my arm to stop the blood from pouring out. The moon shines brightly tonight, making it easy to see.

 

    My eyes widened as I opened the pouch to see it brimming with silver pieces, enough to get me a week's worth of food and board on a ship. I shoved the pouch in my tunic, allowing myself to fantasize at the thought of getting to sleep in a warm bed instead of on the dirt alleyways. I've been in Zusics for about two months now, too long for my comfort. I've grown used to jumping from city to city as often as possible.

 

    From the corner of my eye, I see a Perathean mother and a child in the dirt. Both of them are stick thin, the girl looking just around 3 years of age. The girl is playing in the dirt as her mother watches her, looking up to see me approaching and quickly pulls her daughter to her. I pull out a handful of the coins and offer them to her, a bit surprised when she shakes her head, clutching her daughter.

 

    "It's ok, I only want to help," I say, holding the coins out to her. I offer her a small smile, and she looks at the coins, her eyes widening. She looks at me hesitantly before taking them. I give her a small nod goodbye, before retreating into an alley. Peering into my pouch, I inspect how much I have left. It's about twenty coins, enough to get me food for a week, but not quite enough to get me fare on a boat. Sighing, I latch it onto my belt. Living on the streets isn't much of a life, but it's better than having none at all, and I'll be able to make up the money for a boat trip again. Probably. Hopefully.

 

    Leaning against a wall, I close my eyes and rub my neck, allowing myself a little rest. My eyes shoot open when four pairs of footsteps echoed through my alley. My arm screamed in pain when my right hand reached for my newly acquired knife as my wound began to bleed once more. Biting back a yelp, I look up to see the owners of the footsteps. Three large men were walking into my alley. It was just light enough for me to make out the faces of the people who were helping The Bull. Each of them held blades of their own. Behind them was the woman who I had just given money to.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! What do people say down here?


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